


what's weed you?

by myssyx



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gaang shenanigans, Gen, Sokka has Hayfever, Weed, if you squint like hell kinda zukka? but they're still in the best friend stage, lmaooo this is such crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myssyx/pseuds/myssyx
Summary: It’s been a week.Katara thought Sokka would’ve given in by now and just told her, but it seems that they’re doing it the hard way.Or: Sokka has a secret. The Gaang (Katara) try to figure it out. It works just as much as you think it would.
Relationships: Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & The Gaang (Avatar), Sokka & The Gaang (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	what's weed you?

**Author's Note:**

> i have no regrets about this at all
> 
> also a psa: I LOVE SOKKA AND HIS BIG FREAKIN BRAIN

“Aang,” Katara says, as soon as she hears Sokka tread upstairs and close his bedroom door behind him, leaning over the living room table with narrowed eyes.

Aang knows those eyes well — Katara’s on a mission to find something out again.

“Yes?” he asks, apprehensive.

“Do you think Sokka’s acting a bit weird? Does he seem off to you in any way?”

Blinking, Aang scratches the back of his head. It’s not a question he was expecting. 

Earlier that afternoon all they’d done was play a couple of games of Uno that inevitably ended in both Sokka and Katara cheating but refusing to admit it, and he’d been perfectly competitive in that. Nothing weird there.

And before Katara joined them citing studying for exams as the reason, they’d tried to teach Appa a couple of tricks with a tennis ball and it worked out… decently. Aang won’t be telling her anytime soon about the slobbery wreck of a tennis ball stuck behind the bins, nor the fact that in bribing Appa to catch a ball through a hula hoop, they’d drained half the beef jerky treats packet, but that’s what usually happens anyway.

“Not really? We taught Appa a few more tricks. Do you want to see?”

At the mention of his name, Appa yawns again from under the table.

“Not right now, but I’ll see them next time for sure. Right now, Sokka’s hiding something.”

Aang helpfully reminds her, “Sokka’s not a really good hider though, I’m sure you’ll find out soon. It can’t be that bad, right?”

Nodding in agreement, the brief concern leaves Katara’s face, even as she glances thoughtfully towards the stairs. 

“You’re right. I’ll give him a few days. I’m sure he’ll tell me soon.”

* * *

It’s been a week.

Katara thought Sokka would’ve given in by now and just told her, but it seems that they’re doing it the hard way.

If she weren’t so caught up on prepping for her midterms, she’d have asked him about it earlier. Except — leaving it late also left her chances to observe a lot more _strange_ _behaviour_.

First off, she’s sure that Sokka’s getting sick or something, otherwise she wouldn’t be hearing him have coughing or sneezing fits at ass o’clock when she’s trying to sleep or memorise her notes for her impending exams.

It’s spring, so it might be the hay fever starting up early, or so he’s said when she asked (shouted at) him to stop disrupting her peace, but unless he’s growing whole ass flowers in his bedroom? There’s no way.

Also, he’s started singing and humming more often. 

Okay, so that’s not exactly related to suspicious activity but it sounds like a broken kazoo (" _I’m not that bad!_ ) and Katara is slowly coming to her ends wit.

Stretching her arms up, she heaves a sigh and moseys her way down the pavement, taking note of the neighbours’ subtle changes to their yards. With the weather finally gracing them with cornflower clear skies and sunlight so buttery it melts on the growing lawns and trees, she was basically obliged to take a break.

Up ahead, Mrs Henji’s lawn proudly sits like the crown jewel of the street: perfectly painted fences and flowers spilling from every crevice of the yard in all the shades you could imagine. Especially her prize marigolds that Uncle Iroh has practically been begging to sample for tea. It was a dream to see and a nightmare for Sokka to smell.

The distant rustling of a door closing shut and footsteps rushing down brick alerts her. Ah, Mrs Henji did like to host frequently. Squinting in the sun, she sees a boy closing the front gate behind him. He’s tall, and just a little bit on the gangly side —

Wait a minute. 

That’s Sokka!

“What on Earth…” Katara mutters, baffled.

Sokka casually makes his way down the sidewalk, backpack hung on one shoulder and tank top ruffled with the breeze. He’s completely oblivious that just a few blocks behind him, his shocked sister stands there.

Just when she thinks it can’t get any weirder, it does! Why would he willingly surround himself in enough flowers to drown ten wedding receptions? As far as Katara knows, Sokka doesn’t have private chats with Mrs Henji to discuss the local neighbourhood gossip — that’s her thing!

Unless Sokka has developed a sudden green thumb, there’s no explanation. Faintly, she recalls Gran-Gran cursing him out in the backyard as she wildly waves a shovel around, so no way. 

The chance of Sokka taking gardening as a hobby is less likely than Toph is to suddenly stop being blind.

Scowling, she turns and heads back home despite her mind screaming at her to follow Sokka. Unfortunately, as a broke uni student, money wins and she’s got a shift coming up quickly. Whatever. She’ll find out what he’s finding soon enough.

Or everyone will have to suffer.

* * *

The hum of half-hearted conversations and the rumbling bus engine greet her as she steps on the bus and swipes her card. Katara makes a beeline for Zuko, who’s got his headphones in as always, messenger bag on his lap. 

“Psst. Hey, Zuko.”

When Zuko looks up, he quickly conceals his surprise. She’ll admit, it’s disconcerting for her as well since they’ve made an unspoken pact not to disturb each other on the bus, or really anywhere, unless something particularly stupid has happened and they want to rant.

But desperate situations call for desperate measures — and Sokka’s best friend should probably know what’s up, right? Right.

“Katara,” Zuko says, suspiciously and in lieu of a greeting.

“You hang out with my brother a lot. Is he up to anything? Has he done something, you know, stupid recently, has he been just a bit weirder these past few days?”

Zuko snorts, cracking a small smile.

“When is Sokka not weird?” 

Katara huffs a laugh before recommencing her interrogation. 

“Okay, that’s true, but has he been off though?”

Pondering this lightly, Zuko purses his lips. 

“Nope. Sorry,” he responds, and Katara groans. So not right. Even Sokka’s best friend doesn’t know anything, so who will?

“Thanks anyways,” she says, and they both awkwardly smile at each other, Zuko much more apologetically. 

Darn. Sokka’s better at hiding whatever it is than she thought. He’ll crack eventually, she reminds herself. 

He _has_ to.

* * *

Breathe in. Hold it in the lungs. Stretch. Touch the floor next to her planted feet. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Hold it in the lungs. Stretch —

At the loudest volume known to mankind, her phone jolts to life with the ringtone, and Katara almost dislocates her ankle falling over in shock. 

She reaches for her phone and angrily swipes the screen, not caring for caller ID. 

“ _What._ ”

“Someone’s in a bad mood! Actually, me too,” Toph says, slurping on something in the background audio.

Sitting up straight to rub at the ankle, Katara apologises for the attitude and asks why.

“Do you know where Snoozles is? He was meant to show up at the skatepark but he _clearly_ forgot that, even though we do this every week,” Toph grumbles, a bit upset.

Katara drops her jaw.

It’s even worse than she thought it was. First, he skips right out of Mrs Henji’s minefield of pollen, then he starts having sneezing fits out of the blue, and now he’s out rendezvousing in god knows where.

“Toph. He left the house an hour ago, with his skateboard,” Katara slowly answers, trying to process the worrying new info. 

“Ugh. I bet he caught the wrong bus again.”

“Right…” 

Of course — Toph probably isn’t as worried (and thinking more rationally, let’s be honest) as Katara, having no idea about the strange developments.

Halfway through suggesting that she should call him, Hakoda walks into the room.

“Yup. Tried that already. Dipshit didn’t pick up,” Toph says, cursing a few times for more flavour. “Suki bought us iced tea and since Sokka didn’t show up, I’m drinking his. I do _not_ approve of your brother’s topping choices, Sugar Queen.”

She continues to go on and Katara increasingly wonders where the hell he could’ve disappeared off to. What if he’s caught up in something shady? Oh no. Oh spirits no.

Meanwhile, Hakoda starts rummaging through the television cupboard drawers, pausing to rub his chin in deep thought.

“Hey, have you seen my gardening gloves anywhere? I seem to have misplaced them…” Hakoda says, frowning.

Katara covers her phone briefly as Toph continues to ramble her irritation out.

“Dad, I’m on a call right now. Do you mind, uh —”

“Oh, yep. Sure thing, sorry,” he winces, and exits the living room.

Returning to the call, she can’t help but think that he’s in some kind of danger. Sokka gets himself into trouble so frequently it’s a wonder he’s somehow still alive and kicking, but the thought of that stresses her out more.

“Hey,” Katara interrupts, and tentatively asks Toph a question she’s been mentioning way too often recently: “Have you noticed anything strange about Sokka?”

Toph pauses and sips on the tea. 

“Sorry. Can’t help you there. I mean, he’s been a bit flakey these past few days and that’s super annoying but nah, not really.”

“Flakey?”

“Yeah. He says he’s busy studying or whatever but that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Ooh, has he done something stupid again?”

“No, not really. I’m just worried for him,” Katara confesses, and stores the extra tidbit away.

“Well, you’re kind of his sister, and he’s Snoozles, so I sorta get it,” Toph reassures in her clunky way, and Katara smiles at the effort. 

“Don’t get too worked up about it. He’s probably just done something stupid again. I’m kinda sad I missed it,” she admits, and that sends Katara into a warm bubble of laughter.

Afterwards, they say their usual goodbyes and hang up.

Katara lies on the yoga mat, having no idea what to do. She’s asked practically everyone on the situation and received no answers. Every day that she doesn’t figure it out, he does something even weirder that thickens the plot. 

She’d initially hoped that Sokka would feel guilty or just give in and tell her, but he’s either got more fortitude in secret-keeping or it’s something much darker. Katara doesn’t want to think about the second option.

What if he’s getting blackmailed? 

What if she finds out and then something bad happens to him? 

Her instant solution is to just figure it out, kick whoever’s ass is messing with her brother, and then scold Sokka for getting into the mess. That’ll work.

She pats herself on the back for the quick thinking and decides to commit to finding his secret out, no matter what. 

* * *

It’s late at night and Katara’s about to nod off in the living room, all her previously neatly organised files and notes littering the table, the floor, and even some of the couch.

Just as she yawns, Sokka enters the room.

Trying to stay alert as possible without making him realise she’s observing him, she hones in on his face. 

He’s got pretty bad eyebags, so he must be staying up late as well. A sign of poor sleep and stress, Katara notes mentally.

His posture is horrible, but that’s just the normal despite her constant calls to straighten up (“ _You look like a banana.” “Ugh, who cares!”_ ).

But there’s something just a little bit off. Narrowing her drooping eyes, she reexamines his face.

Oh spirits.

Oh spirits!

“Sokka, are you taking weed?!?!”

She scrabbles over the table and immediately clutches Sokka’s face in her hands, holding on with a death grip.

His eyes are red, veins spiderwebbing across the white of his eyes. They’re red. Code red, bitch, Sokka’s been using drugs this whole time and oh spirits, Mrs Henji must be the dealer!

“What?! What — no!!!” Sokka shouts, but it’s muffled with Katara squishing his cheeks, eyes wildly darting around his face to check for more signs.

“Why are your eyes red!”

It’s 1am and the neighbours are probably going to call a noise complaint, but she couldn’t care less. She’s cracked it. This whole time, with the sneezing fits, blaming it on the hayfever, the blood-red eyes?!?! 

It’s unmistakable. 

“They’re not red, _you’re_ tripping! Uhh, it’s pretty late, maybe the tiredness is getting to you, you should sleep soon!”

“Cut the bullshit, I don’t suddenly not see colours when I’m tired. Why are your eyes red!!”

“Uhh — I, uh, —”

Through his hesitation, Katara rips it open like a velociraptor tearing apart its prey. 

“You’re hesitating. Oh spirits, it’s true, you’ve been taking weed, and, and -- wait — why didn’t you tell me?”

Sokka slaps her hands away.

“Because I’m not taking weed! There’s nothing _to_ tell,” he bristles. “My eyes are red because I’ve been staying up late a lot and drinking lots of energy drinks.”

Immediately, Katara’s eyes slant to being more concerned, eyebrows furrowing deeper. 

“Sokka. I thought you quit last year,” she gently asks, disappointment bleeding through.

“I did — it’s just. Been a hard month?”

If Katara wasn’t so worried about the possible caffeine and sugar levels rushing through his bloodstream, she would have noticed how Sokka kept shifting his eyes back and forth over a shoddily painted patch on the wall, tapping his foot anxiously on the carpet.

“Okay. But I’m gonna confiscate all your drinks,” she says solemnly, and Sokka easily agrees.

Katara definitely can’t study anymore for the night, after that heart attack. She makes a decision that night, grimacing slightly as she chooses.

It’s for his better, she reassures herself. 

It doesn’t help.

* * *

As Sokka shuts the front door behind him, leaving for his weekly DnD club, Katara makes her move. She runs upstairs and pauses at the threshold of Sokka’s bedroom.

Look, she doesn’t want to do it either, and she feels really shitty about it, but if Sokka won’t tell her when it’s clearing making him this bogged down, she’ll have to find out for herself.

It’s also causing him to lie to her as well, apparently. Katara, bored out of her mind after Sokka went back to his room after the weed accusation fiasco, and knowing she couldn’t focus on anything else — decided to roll the measly stash of two Cactus Juice cans around.

They had clinked against each other dimly and blurred through the neon green, yellow, and black, landing on the nutritional information. Katara snorted. Yeah, right. Energy drinks having nutrition.

But right there on the lip of the metal can, just before the plastic wrapping, the due date was stamped incriminatingly in jet black.

Due date: 11/07/20XX

That was last year! 

As if life wanted to hit her with one more disbelieving punch, Sokka probably drank those expired energy drinks. No. No! She refused to believe that he was that stupid — sure, he had his moments, but if he was going to fall back into bad habits, at least make it good while it lasted or whatever.

Then and there, she knew it was a lie.

Which left her with one option: weed.

Taking weed wasn’t a bad thing, don’t get her wrong, she’s a medical student for spirits’ sake, but it was the fact that he was probably so stressed to the point where he didn’t even bother talking it out in the first place with her. Or Hakoda. Or Gran-Gran, for that matter.

Exhaling, she pushes his door open and steps inside.

It looks exactly the same.

Katara doesn’t know whether to be relieved or more sceptical, but she decides to rummage around to see if Sokka could be hiding something in a secret spot. Maybe a ziplock bag of weed will turn up. 

The closet is its usual wreck of sleeveless hoodies and windbreakers, and Katara itches to sort them out of the towering pile but she knows it’d be suspicious as heck if Sokka came back to anything even resembling organisation. Searching the desk doesn’t do her any favours either — he’s designing some kind of contraption again and looking at the calculations make her brain quit.

Even looking under the bed doesn’t help! He’s pushed random pieces of trash and scrunched up pieces of paper from failed designs at god knows what underneath, but nothing else. 

_I guess looking here did nothing_ , Katara thinks guiltily, and takes one last attempt at staking out whatever presence of weed or any other evidence of a secret by sniffing the air.

It smells of boy and something else, something so familiar that it’s become forgettable. Katara is reminded of blue skies, backyards with Gran Gran’s weathered hands, and occasionally the back room of the Jasmine Dragon.

It’s something earthy — it’s on the tip of her tongue, it’s — 

Dirt? 

_What on Earth?_

_Ha, Earth,_ Katara thinks, before being slammed with confusion and all of the facts of the current case. All of them point to a sudden investment in gardening. 

Which makes no sense whatsoever.

Why would Sokka, hayfever and fear of bugs and all, suddenly discover his green thumb? He’s never even _had_ a green thumb before. What? What!!

Katara thinks of red eyes and weed. And the missing gardening gloves that Dad has been complaining about. And Mrs Henji.

And it all comes crashing down on her.

* * *

Standing up, Katara decisively places her porcelain teacup down on the table and clears her throat.

The Gaang look up at her, curious and wondering what could’ve prompted Katara to hold an emergency meeting at 8pm without Sokka to weigh in on anything.

“Friends and loved ones of Sokka,” Katara begins. “I have come to bring you troubling news.”

Immediately, Aang and Zuko sit up.

“In the past week or so, Sokka has been acting incredibly strangely. He has been flakey, secretive, and weird. Yes, Toph, weirder than normal.”

She holds the moment in suspense as the Gaang slowly lean forward.

Feeling the weight of the words in her throat as they slowly reach up to make their escape, she swallows.

Katara delivers her verdict to the court, clear and loud.

“I have great reason to believe that Sokka is starting a weed farm in his bedroom!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Chaos.

It’s the only word to describe it.

Toph falls out of her chair at record speed screaming with laughter with no one to catch her seeing as they’re all busy having stood up in their shock, amusement, and confusion.

Only slightly more dignified, the only reason Suki isn’t on the floor giggling her head off is because she’s Suki. Next to her, Zuko stands there seemingly caught up in his own despairing bubble of thought, counting off spirits knows what off his fingers. 

Aang turns to Katara, trying to be as supportive as possible in his confusion.

“As long as it isn’t hurting anybody, I’ll support his business. Good for him?” he says to a speechless Katara.

Suki cuts in, her voice thick with glee. “He’s trying again? You mean it’s actually working out this time?” 

“What?!! You mean this isn’t his first try?!”

“Hell no,” she starts, already cracking up. “In high school, I had to save Sokka from getting beat up by Jet because his weed aspirations didn’t work out the way he’d hoped and Jet figured out that he’d actually been paying ten bucks for a gram of oregano instead,” she manages to say, before she finally collapses and doubles over in laughter. Toph rolls over clutching at her stomach, sent into another dimension of raucous laughter.

Katara feels like someone’s come and dunked her in ice-cold water before flipping her over on the judo mat. What the fuck?! Her brain’s overloaded. It’s filled with absolutely nothing and everything, but most important betrayal and overwhelming shock.

Zuko decides to step in next.

Listen — he might be one of the most irrational bitches she has ever known in her _life_ , but whatever comes out of his mouth is _still_ not what she expected. 

“What were the batch conditions? Did you check the light intensity, what about the temperature and humidity of the air? How much water are the plants getting?”

Every time he asks a new question his gestures get wilder as he becomes more absorbed in Sokka’s potential weed farm, leaning forward for answers.

How does she keep getting caught off guard? Who allowed this!

“ _What?!_ ” shouts everyone, the first thing they’ve done unanimously since they got here.

“Zuko, how the fuck do you know so much about weed?” she yells on behalf of everyone who’s now renewed their subscription on hysteria for the 25th time this evening.

He blinks up at her slowly, unperturbed by the bloom of outrageous shock on her face.

“It’s exam season. How do you think I know so much about weed,” he deadpans.

Now that she thinks about it, he does look (more) tired. Even the scar seems to sag a little, and on the other side his eye bag is so strong it could lift weights.

“That checks out,” Toph responds, finally deciding to sit back in her seat. She’d prop her feet up but she respects Iroh too much to desecrate any part of the dragon.

Katara carries on.

“Look, I didn’t actually _see_ any weed when I checked his room, but it smelt like dirt. Also, he came into the living room the other day with _red eyes_. That’s like the no.1 sign of taking weed, isn’t it?”

The group exchange glances, but most of them look unconvinced. Katara knows if they’d have just _been_ there they would get it.

“Katara, I don’t think you should’ve gone into Sokka’s room without asking him. You should tell him and apologise. But are you sure it isn’t just allergies? Spring is setting in,” Aang reasons gently. Her shoulders sag down.

“Yeah, I know I shouldn’t have and I _will_ say sorry when he tells me what his secret is. I don’t think it’s just Spring though, because why would he willingly surround himself with plants? It just doesn’t make sense,” Katara explains, and the rest of them contemplate it carefully.

The first one to come to a conclusion, Suki speaks up. 

“Hey, I know you’ve tried all this sneaky undercover stuff, but have you actually considered just… you know, asking him?”

Katara blinks, then rapidly flushes.

“At the start, I was meant to, but then I got in too deep and thought that someone might be blackmailing him to keep the secret and finding out through him would make it worse.”

They all furrow their eyebrows.

“Now that I’ve said it, I realise how bad that sounds!” Katara injects hastily, embarrassed by her past self’s thoughts.

“You think?” Toph says, eyebrow raised. “Why don’t we just crash there and ask him now!”

Admitting that it’s not a bad idea, Katara mentally prepares herself for asking Sokka. Dang. Two whole weeks of self-inflicted torture ends now. She has to admit, she’s a little scared. He might not be in actual danger, but it still doesn’t rule out the weed farm.

They clear up the shop and shuffle out of the shop into Suki’s van parked out front.

Time to find out.

* * *

“I’m _here_ ,” Katara sing-songs exaggeratedly, trying to scope out where Sokka is and make sure he knows that she’s back home.

The rest of the group stand behind her, trying to see (or hear and feel, in Toph’s case) if anything is off.

No reply, so he must be cooped up in his room.

Followed by the rest of the Gaang up the stairs, Katara slowly creeps up, the body of the door frame coming into her vision. Stopping on the last step, she takes a deep breath.

“Ow! Why the fuck did we stop,” says Toph way too loudly, presumedly rubbing her nose after slamming it into Zuko’s back. Everyone responds by instinctually shushing her, except the sound is probably louder than her exclamation.

Katara knocks on his door thrice.

“Sokka, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Uhhh, yeah, just — ouch! Just hold on a minute, I’m busy!”

Ouch? What? Fresh worry tunnels through her mind, and it doesn’t help at all that he sounds especially nasally and very much _sick_ , even with a whole door between them to muffle the noise.

Panicking, she immediately goes to open the door, except the doorknob twists and then stops. “Sokka, why is your door locked? Let me in, you sound sick,” Katara says, pitch rising with every word. The rest of them crowd around the door, ready to jump in at any moment.

“I’m fine! Just wait —”

“If you don’t let me in to see what’s wrong I’m gonna kick the door down!”

“Nonono wait, don’t do that —”

“3, 2, —“

“I’m doing drugs!”

The silence is deafening for all but three seconds.

“ _Drugs!!!_ ” Katara shrieks.

“Drugs!” shout Aang and Toph simultaneously, one sounding much more horrified than the other.

“Uh, drugs?” Zuko offers.

They all turn to him with confused looks, briefly distracted.

Katara squints, “Why did you say drugs?”

Sputtering and looking generally flabbergasted, his shoulders and hands draw up defensively.

“What?! We were all just saying it, I thought I was meant to as well!”

Suki pats Zuko’s back to comfort him, but whether or not it’s to tease or to actually make him feel better isn’t known. It definitely doesn’t make him feel better.

“You — nevermind,” Katara dismisses, and then starts slamming her side into the door to try to knock it down, with the added support of Toph. “I’m coming in!”

The wood groans ominously under their vicious barrage of hammering hits and insults Toph throws at it ( _"_ _Take that, you dead tree!”_ ).

“Nonono no no _no_ stop don’t —” the door splinters and the hinges finally give up, man overboard, “— come in…” Sokka finishes belatedly, staring with wide eyes as Katara and the others stand there at the threshold baring equally determined and shocked faces.

In Sokka’s hands, over the fallen hunk of a door, is a bird.

* * *

On his way back from work, Sokka whistles an aimless tune, caught between a daydream and a half and the occasional cohesive thought, as one does late afternoon on a tepid Tuesday. The granite scrapes familiarly under the soles of his sneakers.

He’s thinking about what’s for dinner (sea prune stew? takeout?) when he hears it — a swollen, stabbing, cry that breaks the hum of the neighbourhood. It’s just ahead of him in a small, brown, heap, curled up like a strange bump in the skin of the pavement.

Racing towards it, the volume of the pained chirping increases. The bird, roughly the size of his palm, is laying on the concrete with its right wing jutting out at an awfully unnatural angle. With its feathers all fluffed up and twitching, Sokka swears and on instinct bends down and reaches for it with his hands.

A loud squeal has him flinching away as he suddenly remembers not to touch the bird lest he makes it worse.

What to do, what to do? He’s never encountered a bird with a broken wing before, let alone had to help it by himself. His only experiences with birds are from Teo’s budgies, and even then he’d mostly kept away from them knowing he’d start sneezing the moment they flapped their bright yellow wings.

Well. The internet’s free for a reason, he surmises, and looks it up.

All the websites he goes on recommend either a towel or gloves, and seeing as he has none of them on hand, he decides to run to his house and back. It’s only two blocks away anyways.

“Sorry birdy, I’m gonna get some gloves real quick, but I’ll come back! I promise, Scouts honour,” he salutes to the bird, and dashes off. The bird cheeps in response.

He returns in a huff with his dad’s gardening gloves, noting to be more efficient as the sun makes a steady dip behind the trees, and goes to pick the bird up again. Gently. Very, very, gently.

The thrum of the bird, still palpable through the thick hide of the glove, surprises Sokka. It makes him much more aware of the stakes; how life can take the same amount of love and put it in something the size of two cupped hands. If he focuses, he can feel its delicate heartbeat in the tiny ribcage.

By the time he gets home and realises that no one’s there, the sun’s barely visible, beckoning the fringe of twilight forward. He walks up to his room with footsteps as even as possible and slowly sets the bird on a towel on his desk — all while reining in all the buildup of sniffles and sneezes so to not startle it.

Its gleaming black eye stares up at him, vulnerable. 

Sokka grabs an empty shoebox from under his bed and cushions the inside with a rolled-up shirt he doesn’t care for. It’s not the fanciest setup, but it’ll do for now. 

He places the bird inside the box with a noticeably less vocal protest and watches with a careful eye as it shuffles into a more comfortable position on the shirt. Against the backdrop of white fabric, the brown and red of its feathers stand out even more. The red is smeared like the bird was poorly dipped into paint, with the head and the rounded front the only victims. Thinking of The Lion King, Sokka lightly chuckles. 

He checks the website again to see what he needs to do next. He’s got the bird settled. Check. Now the bird needs a mild source of heat.

Making sure the bird’s now calmed down to the strange, new, environment, he heads to the bathroom to fill up a water bottle with warm water. Sokka feels like a nervous just-made-parent fretting over his newborn, which isn’t that far from the truth if he’s being honest. 

In the halo of the desk lamp, the bird’s silver beak takes on a new light — almost ethereal, like diamond under the microscope or something equally poetic. When he places the bottle inside, it jolts in surprise. 

“Hey, hey, birdy, it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you, don’t worry.” Reassured, the bird blinks slowly, eyes growing droopier with the warmth emanating from the bottle.

Sokka tentatively feeds it water with a pipette, and is pleasantly surprised to hear the almost silent coo of the bird, now adjusted to his room. 

He ponders the ripple of brown across the bird’s wings; subtle rings of dye clinging to water. “I think,” he looks the bird in the eye, “I’m going to call you Hawky.”

Maybe it’s wishful thinking or maybe it is a sign, either way, Sokka swears that he hears a louder rumbling coo, like an approval of the name. Hawky cranes their neck a final time, and within a blink, they fall asleep. 

He breathes a sigh.

And then promptly turns his head to the side — “Achoo!”

“Oh shit. I forgot about that.”

Hawky doesn’t wake up despite the noise, and Sokka contemplates the Claratyne tablets stuffed way back in their medicine cabinet. He’s got enough until Hawky’s will be alright. Right?

As Hakoda drives the car in from picking up Gran Gran from her Poker group, he realises just how much trouble he’s in. Sure, it might have been a good thing, but it was still a pretty stupid decision. Sokka can’t even ring up Teo for help since he’s away at an engineering program for the month. 

In the back of his mind, he knows his dad won’t be too mad, and neither will Katara, but he can’t help but fear the route that they wouldn’t be so understanding. What if they make him abandon the poor bird?

The face of Katara’s shuttered disapproval flashes in his mind and makes him instantly cringe.

Yeah no. He can’t let that happen on his watch. Especially since he’s already established a connection to Hawky. He’ll have to nurse this bird back to health by himself.

Looking through the guide online again, he begins to formulate a plan.

* * *

“I guess was just worried. I didn’t really know how to tell you guys, and I thought —” Sokka’s embarrassed smile takes a dip, pained, “— I thought you’d make me like… dump Hawky or something.”

Katara stays silent for a bit, weaving the words together and reconstructing her whole web of misunderstanding. When she speaks, it’s soft but firm.

“I would never do that. What you’re doing is right, Sokka. I could never make you abandon the bird like that. You could have told us, we wouldn’t have gotten mad. Promise.”

“I know you wouldn’t — but I just got scared? I don’t know, at first the bird was just so vulnerable that I _had_ to take care of him, but then, after a while, he kind of. Became special to me? And then, well, I felt so selfish but I didn’t really want to uhh, share him.” His confession brings a unanimous appreciative and understanding smile from them all. Of course Sokka would be the one to do something like this; like he always has.

This time, Suki decides to offer a small piece of assurance. “I don’t think you were being selfish. I think it’s natural; I mean, who _wouldn’t_ be attached to something they take care of?”

Sokka stands up straighter as his worries finally pry their fingers off his shoulders. Hawky’s still in his hands, which Katara finally realises are covered by Dad’s missing gardening gloves.

“Dad’s been looking for those, by the way,” she says, and Sokka blinks, before letting out an aborted sheepish chuckle. 

“Yeah, I should probably tell him.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Thanks. It really means a lot.”

Hawky interrupts the moment by chirping loudly, ruffling its feathers. 

They all watch as Sokka hones in on the bird's distress and readjusts the wrap around one of Hawky’s wings, with a precision they’ve all seen when he’s caught up in his experiments. 

Toph, having waited for these past couple of moments to get past the sappy shit finally asks what she thinks has clearly been on everyone’s mind. “How the fuck did you find a hawk?!” She’s indignant.

Okay, so it might not actually be what the people were dying to ask, but the Gaang are suddenly reminded that she can’t _see_ the dang bird curled up in Sokka’s palms, which is most definitely _not_ a hawk. Unless hawks have somehow evolved to be able to fit into tiny chip packets.

“Wha — Hawky is not a hawk! He’s a house finch, thank you very much,” Sokka defends, huddling the bird closer to his chest. 

“Why would you call a bird that isn’t a hawk Hawky! That’s like calling a fish ‘Doggy’!”

The two continue arguing over the validity of normative determinism, Katara having joined in to jeer Sokka’s poor naming choices. Zuko and Aang hover near Sokka, watching with concentrated looks of enamourment towards the tiny bird. They’re definitely going to ask Sokka to hold him later on.

Suki looks towards the desk, where Sokka’s backpack lays half-open, revealing a bag of sunflower seeds and various other seed packets. “Sokka, what are these for? Don’t tell me you’re breaking into gardening,” she teases, shaking a bright yellow packet of the seeds for them to see.

“Oh! No way, they’re to feed Hawky. You can feed him some if you want?” 

Immediately making a beeline for the packet like a sleeper agent being given the word to go, Zuko takes the packet and fishes out a handful, bringing it slowly to the bird’s face so as to not startle it.

Hawky curiously pecks at the seeds before taking one and eating it to the utter delight of Zuko, who watches in awe as Hawky chews and swallows seed after seed. He’s tempted to pet the bird lightly on its soft feathery head, and reins in the urge until Sokka notices through the careful language of no words they’ve established together and says to just go for it, to which Zuko half-beams and goes to gently stroke the uninjured feathers.

Still caught up on connecting the dots of her strewn case, Katara gasps, and then points almost accusingly at the packet that Toph now has since she’s decided she wants to feed him as well. 

“That’s why you were coming from Mrs Henji’s house! You were getting food for Hawky, I cracked the code, oh my spirits!” Katara rides the waves of her revelation, having finally pieced every little thing together into one big connecting board.

“Wait, you saw me coming from her house?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I was going on a walk last week — it’s not like I was actively spying on you!”

Aang clears his throat and tilts his head towards Sokka in the most obvious way ever.

Flushing, Katara remembers that she still has to apologise for scavenging through his room to find evidence of the very non-existent weed farm. “Okay, don’t get mad at me, because I genuinely thought you were starting a weed farm, but I looked through your room. I’m really sorry and I won’t do that ever again,” she hurries out so it can end as quickly as possible.

“I’m a bit upset, but apology accepted. You shouldn’t — wait, did you just say you _thought I was starting a weed farm_?” Sokka shouts, before lowering his voice exponentially as Hawky sings his protests at the volume.

“Yes?”

He stands there silently, his cheeks increasingly redder and more puffed up as he bites his lip to hold the laughter in. Katara scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“You can laugh,” she says dryly.

Sokka goes to place Hawky back into his shoebox just so he can let out peals of full-body laughter, his clothes laughing with him as he almost falls to the ground, which causes Toph and Suki to consequently lose it again. Even Zuko lets out a couple of chuckles despite the deathly glare Katara brandishes towards all of them.

In between laughs, Sokka gasps for breath. “You thought — oh spirits, you actually thought I had a whole weed farm up in my bedroom? Me?”

“That’s what I said! Especially after the oregano and Jet thing,” Suki guffaws, and Sokka indignantly yelps. 

“You told them about that?!”

“I had to! It was literally the perfect story, I couldn’t help it!”

He pretends to tackle her because if he tried to do it for real Suki would hand his ass backwards and concave with no sweat. She wasn’t on the national judo team for nothing, after all.

After the laughter has (finally) petered out, with Aang holding Hawky and trying to get him to chirp his name ( _"_ _I don’t think he knows how to pronounce human words, Aang”)_ , Katara looks towards Sokka.

“So what are we going to do now? I mean, after we tell Dad and all that. I hate to break it to you, but the bird needs professional help.”

Sokka gestures for them to wait, and then types in an address on his phone maps to show them all. The little red pin points at a patch of grey labelled ‘June & Nyla’s Veterinary Clinic + Rescue’. 

“I wanted to get Hawky a scan for his wing, but the nearest clinic is almost three hours away, and that’s just getting there. I didn’t want to make things suspicious and leaving for more than six hours without an explanation is definitely, uhh, suspicious to say the least,” he explains, grimacing at the travel time indicated.

Katara claps her hands together, suddenly invigorated with a burst of excitement. “I know! We can make it a road trip this weekend. We’ll all drive up to the clinic and back, it’ll be fun!”

Sokka’s scowl flickers upwards like a neon sign, stunned. “Wait, really? Hold on, what about your exams? Aren’t they coming up or something —”

“Sokka, between a road trip to nurse a bird back to health and reading my textbook, I think there’s a clear winner.”

Pitching in, Zuko agrees, but it’s not like he’d ever say no. The bitch himself has literally egged one of his estranged father’s favourite investors just to piss the dickhead off.

“Let’s gooo, road trip road trip road trip,” Aang hollers, joined in by Toph. Suki offers her van for the journey and they all work together to iron out the details. Especially the snacks. Snacks are vital for this trip.

In a few hours, Sokka will confess his secret to his Dad and Gran-Gran, and receive a good-hearted noogie for it, and a proud approval for the road trip.

Later, on the weekend, they’ll all head off to the clinic, meet a formidable goth vet and horse duo that own said clinic, and then get the wing scanned. It’ll come back satisfactory, with just a few more days of rest as the verdict.

Even later, a week later in fact, they’ll gather in Sokka’s backyard, his allergic sneezes and sniffling inseparable to the tears shed in honour of Hawky’s recovery. Katara will cry a bit too, but if anyone mentions it, they’re as good as dead.

And then they’ll all watch.

They’ll all watch Hawky spread his wings, each individual feather of tawny brown, mottled white, and brilliant red outstretched as he flaps his wings once, twice, and then off into the corn blue sky. 

It’ll be a cloudless day, the kind of day that means everyone gets to go home, even the birds. 

Even Hawky.

**Author's Note:**

> did you figure it out?
> 
> also easter egg but Mrs Henji is in fact the Herbalist! when i searched her up i couldn't believe that her whole ass cat had a canon name (Miyuki!) but she herself doesn't?!??! what
> 
> if you liked anything, please leave a comment or kudos (or both ;) !!!
> 
> ty for reading <3


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